I’ve always liked driving.  Growing up on a farm, my folks always had 2 lawnmowers going at the same time if both were working, which was one of the jobs I liked. They taught me how to drive their suburban, in case there was ever an actual emergency.  I enjoyed the rarely working snowmobile, go carts, motorcycle, tractors, and other random vehicles, (with the exception of a skid loader- one close call to a barn wall is secured in my mind as the carny ride from hell.) 

My parents took us on many road trips as kids. A family of 6 makes more sense to drive than to fly and rent a car, so my grandparents’ home up north, regional ski hills, Rocky Mountain ski resorts, Lake Wabana, and family in North Dakota were frequented regularly on 4 wheels.  I have strong memories of looking at maps, figuring out the route, and sometimes writing the names of the towns and crossing them off after we drove through.  And my Walkman with batteries playing a Beastie Boys tape too loudly.

I remember getting close to acquiring my driving permit, daydreaming about the freedom of the open road (which at 15 likely consisted of a few miles to Whitewater State Park.). My parents were able to use the power of said impending freedom to require behavioral changes in my rotten 15 year old self.  And the slow release of freedom was glorious. My parents allowed me to explore, with conditions, fairly often.  I have fond memories of visiting friends, mini girls’ trips (I still love those) roller rinks, parks, and 4-H events around the state, but they took that freedom away anytime I stepped out of line.  I knew it was a beautiful privilege.

I still enjoy driving, although my old lady right hip doesn’t have the stamina of the rest of me.  My kids and I have driven through many states, exploring the open road together.  Sometimes we invite my parents, because it’s fun with them, too. The kids ask me about my memories growing up. We listen to music, sing too loud, and laugh. When they were younger I usually had DVDs in the van, and when I needed a break from the million questions about the meaning of life, I would put one in. They would watch, I would listen, and we’d have some meaningful discussions.  The characters, were they kind humans? Were they good friends? Did they handle situations wisely? And my sweet girls’ tender hearts would cry when someone was left out, treated cruelty, or made fun of.

Both of my kids somehow have a strong desire to save money for their own cars.  They have a few more precious years to dream.  Maizy wants a jeep, Layla a Bronco. They might change their minds, who knows.  But they save their pet sitting money and babysitting money hoping for their own 4 wheels of freedom in a few years.  And it makes me so proud.  And yet, a bit sad.

I am in the thickets of the chauffeur stage. During my relaxing summer days, I often wrote out my driving schedule on a post it, so I didn’t forget a kid somewhere.  They were usually headed different directions.  When I get to drive just one of them, it’s extra special.  If I don’t have too many bags or stuff in the front, the lone kid rides shotgun.  Those meaningful conversations we used to have about movies?  Now they are real life. What kind of friend they want to be, insecurities, new goals, things they want to try, talking through moments of feeling left out or inferior, handling situations wisely, being a good teammate, and (my favorite) sharing some of their favorite memories- some brand new ones, too.  I know I’ll only have this for a few more years, and I do soak it all in.  I will absolutely, undoubtedly miss this chauffeur stage.

A couple of weeks ago, Maizy got to drive the lawnmower for the first time.  I would have put her on it years ago, but it has a safety seat, and she just hit the magic number on the scale to activate it. I know the law says 16, but, come on.  I could see the excitement on her face- the joy of that slow release of independence. Footloose, fancy free.  And cheered on by her sister, who was almost as excited as Maizy.  For Layla, she gets to watch for a bit, learn by observing, and then feel like a pro once it’s her turn. 

I know they’ll still love traveling in the few short years that they’ll be grown.  I won’t join their “girls’ trips,” at least not for a while, and that’s okay.  But I hope that once in a while they’ll invite me along on their family road trips. I hope we still have the meaningful discussions. And when Maizy and Layla’s babies ask about their memories growing up, I hope they tell them about the magic we shared on 4 wheels and the open road.  It’s one of my greatest joys and privileges.